River Of Tears
by Silawen
Summary: He remembers that smile. Oh, he remembers it all too well… Kira/Gin


**  
Title:** River Of Tears.**  
Author:** Silawen**  
Rating:** PG-13 for character death and mentions of blood/battle/war.**  
Characters:** Kira Izuru, Ichimaru Gin, mentions of Kira Izuru/Ichimaru Gin.**  
Warning:** Character death. *sadface***  
Words:** 1805  
**Summary:** _He remembers that smile. Oh, he remembers it all too well…_

**Author's Note:** Written for the 'River' prompt on my new prompt table. Also, I'm not used to writing Kira, so he turned all emo. I know how people hate overly!emo Kira, and I actually love his strength, but I couldn't help it. *sigh*

His sword, dripping with red and soaked in lives lost, dangles on his fingertips, threatening to fall to the ground with a resounding clang. It cries, softly, trembling with remorse and the tears of a never-ending struggle to survive, as around him bodies lie broken and alone. None live, their last breaths torn from them like an eagle tears at delicate flesh. Gashes, edged with burned skin and the smoldering of hair turning to ash, adorn the soulless shells with ever-present marks of battle. They simply stretch around him, some touching his feet as if pleading for pity. He hadn't been able to give it to them.

A gust of wind tears at him, carrying with it the scent of war and suffering much like his zanpakutou still carries the sorrow of betrayal. Though his eyes stare off into the distance, he sees nothing and instead stands solemnly, wondering not for the first time why the memory still affects him so.

Stumbling feet, then, coming up from behind. The hastened breaths close in quickly, a person stomping towards him before coming to a halt. He turns his head only slightly, seeing his lieutenant crouched respectfully at his feet. Though his vision is blurred – tainted, by the constant trickle of blood on his face – he can see the trembling shoulders and feel the other man's reiatsu waver.

"Taichou," his subordinate mutters quietly. "Taichou, we've found him."

_Him._ A word so small, but carrying so many memories. Memories he – and with him, Soul Society as a whole – would love to forget. Memories that have made him into who he is today, his soul carved by their biting truth. These memories are what govern his being even now, as he strives to be everything the man in his memories was not. He recognizes the sad irony, though, in wanting to forget about it all and yet finding it necessary to fight that same battle every single day.

A bird of prey – sweeping past them on elegant wings – whistles high above him, tearing his gaze upwards. Next to him his trusted lieutenant waits quietly as he both enjoys the sight of the proud master of the sky, yet envies him at the same time. Utter freedom is something no shinigami has.

"Show me the way," he orders, grabbing his zanpakutou tighter as they make their way past the crushed bodies of their enemies. He tries not to look at their faces as they go, for they are way too human and his heart way too weak.

With quick steps – though still too slow, he thinks – they make their way across the plains, eventually finding themselves at a narrow river. A lonesome tree stands tall beside it, roots sticking out and seemingly grabbing for the moisture, but the river twists out of their way.

"Kira-taichou!" one of his men calls, glad to see him. He knows they'd no doubt worried for his safety when he'd ordered their retreat. Now, as they stand huddled together – some looking up at the tree, their face stricken with a strange mixture of fear and relief – they look nothing like the confident shinigami he knows them to be.

They immediately move aside as he strides forward. After one glance from his lieutenant they back away even further, their circle widening with every step he takes. He cannot help but forget all about them as his eyes, lined with years of hardship and the pressure he hadn't been accustomed to, fall on the familiar form of one he knows so well. Even after all these years, nothing about the man surprises him.

There, pierced by his own sword and thrust against the tree, hangs the one man he'd never expected to see again. Kira stops not far from the tree's base, looking up at the thin and bony figure of his former captain. Though he'd recognize him anywhere, he's changed. The years of hiding haven't done him good, for his clothes – ruined beyond repair and hanging from jagged shoulders – are too big and his body too small.

It isn't the sight of malnourishment, though, that gets to him, or the scars lining his face and neck. Nor is it the symbolic image of Gin, killed by his own zanpakutou, that worries his heart. No, not even the death in empty eyes – eyes he so rarely really saw – crushes him. It's the smile, still curving the man's lips, that causes his soul to clench.

He remembers that smile. Oh, he remembers it all too well…

_For all intents and purposes, his captain is a great captain to work under. Compared to some of the others, Kira knows, the man is a saint._

Work gets done on time – which Kyouraky Shunsui could never be accused of – and is always complete, even though Kira sometimes has to remind him. Gin sometimes jokes around with his subordinates, sitting alongside them as they gulp down more sake than Kira has ever seen, which he knows some captains would never do. (He still remembers the disgusted looks Kuchiki Byakuya had slung his way when Gin and Kira had carried some division members back to their dorms.)

And regardless what some people in Soul Society say about that creepy captain and his creepy stares, he is a lot more amicable than that bastard Kurotsuchi from the 12th will ever be.

No, Ichimaru Gin makes Kira's life a whole lot easier. If only he wouldn't make his life more complicated as well.

There's a contradiction there that Kira's all too aware of. It's like his life has become one huge contradiction, only because he serves under the mysterious captain of the 3rd Division. With every move his captain makes, he finds himself wondering what its meaning is and then why he cares. He both trusts and fears his captain, the conflict creating turmoil inside of him whenever he's near. And, when he's completely honest, he both loves and hates him. Ichimaru Gin is nothing like anyone he's ever met before.

"Izuru," his captain drawls, lips lifting into that customary smile. Kira steels himself, relaxing only when a hand brushes his neck and down his shoulder.

"Why so glum, Izuru? Isn't it a lovely day?"

A simple question, but that hand – that infuriating hand – reaches along his shoulders and back to his face, making it almost impossible to answer. If only his captain wasn't so fond of messing with people's heads.

"It's a very lovely day, taichou."

Gin's fingers travel upwards, resting against his cheek in something that resembles affection, but really isn't. Kira knows him too well for that. Yet, in the pit of his stomach, he can feel his body rumbling and hates himself for it.

"Then smile, Izuru." That voice again, speaking his name in hushed tones and rushing through his veins like a drug. He feels his muscles quiver as hot lips flutter against his neck. Another smile, pressed against his skin – Kira is almost convinced he's being branded, maybe by the crazy that is Gin – and his captain pulls back slightly. "It makes me sad when you don't."

Kira watches him go, one thought the sole focus of his being. You liar.

It doesn't disturb him, the sight of blood, but it's somehow wrong to see it stretch across the frayed pieces of a captain's haori. Even if the man it covers is no longer a captain.

He follows the trail of red as it leads from the wound in Gin's chest, dropping down and trickling along his legs to his feet. Eventually, mixing with clear blue, it reaches the river. That is wrong too, Kira thinks, for no river should be drenched with blood. Though the water washes it away rather quickly, his keen eyes can still see the blood blossom before it vanishes. Much like the lust he had experienced all those years ago.

What he also recognizes, as a trembling hand reaches out towards the corpse of the man he once trusted, is that he can't have been dead for long. If his blood still runs, then life has only just left the cool blue eyes of one of Soul Society's greatest enemies.

"This is what Aizen did to us all," Kira whispers, closing his eyes in silent memory as he stills his hand. Turning abruptly, he looks back at his men.

"What happened here?"

Their faces are ashen as they turn to each other uncomfortably. They know their captain too well and Kira can already see the wheels turning as his subordinates try to come up with the one explanation least likely to cause him grief. They won't find one.

"We don't know, taichou," his lieutenant murmurs. "We found him like this. What do you think happened to him, taichou?"

There are countless reasons, but none add up. With Aizen's defeat and Tousen's capture, Gin had been the only one left to lead the troops. And yet they'd scattered, Arrancar and hollow fleeing from the scene like frightened mice. Back then he hadn't understood and he wonders about it even now.

He sighs. "Betrayal, fukutaichou. It's always betrayal."

Without wasting time, he orders them to take the man down. It pulls his mind away from subjects he doesn't want to linger on, the claws of days gone by so sharp that he fears their sting. They would tear him apart, if only because of bad decisions and wasted years.

A limp body is carried slowly away from him, the image grotesque and yet fitting. He can't bear the sight, yet can't keep from staring.

"Hey, taichou…"

Kira finally turns away from the scene, happy to look at the comforting eyes of someone he considers a friend. His relationship with his second in command is nothing like the one he had with Gin and he's grateful for it.

"Yes?"

"Why do you think he is smiling? People don't smile when they die, do they? Not unless they're from the 11th."

A thin smile stretches along his lips as the wind whips his hair around, the feeling not unlike long fingers winding in golden locks. He holds onto Wabisuke, taking comfort in its calm, before looking up at the sky. Next to him, he knows his lieutenant watches, much like he used to do.

"Maybe he was happy it was all over," he says, then gives a chortled laugh. "Or maybe he just wanted to mess with my head one last time."

His friend nods, happy with the answer. The captain of the 3rd watches him hurry after his fellow shinigami, appearing as small dots on the horizon, and Kira grips his zanpakutou tighter. His resolve is strengthened, but the hope of a happy ending lost.

_Or maybe,_ he thinks. _The thing he wanted to mess with, even after all these years, is still my heart._


End file.
